


Not into Being Friends with Athletes

by Codango



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Chubby Katsuki Yuuri, Drunk Blow Jobs, Drunken Kissing, Drunkenness, First Time Blow Jobs, Fraternities & Sororities, House Party, Journalism, M/M, Pining, Volleyball
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-25
Updated: 2017-10-25
Packaged: 2019-01-23 00:41:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12494532
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Codango/pseuds/Codango
Summary: “I’m telling you, he has no idea I exist.”Christophe rolls his eyes. No one can roll their eyes like Christophe. If it were an Olympic sport, everyone else would give up. “The editor of the school paper doesn’t know who the star setter of the men’s volleyball team is?” he says. “That’s just bad journalism.”“It’s true,” Victor insists.A chubby boy is on the other side of the court, interviewing Victor’s coach. He’s holding up his phone to record Coach Yakov’s analysis of the unimportant midseason game, his face serious behind cute, square glasses. It’s enough to make Victor’s heart melt into his shoes.





	Not into Being Friends with Athletes

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks a million times over to [@trianne](https://trianne.tumblr.com/) for their incredible collaboration on [Victuri Big Bang 2017](https://victuri-big-bang.tumblr.com)! I'm not saying but I'm saying that I can't stop staring at their beeeeaaauuutttiful art for this piece. 
> 
> Note that there is a gorgeous NSFW piece embedded at the end of the work.

 “I’m telling you, he has no idea I exist.”

Christophe rolls his eyes. No one can roll their eyes like Christophe. If it were an Olympic sport, everyone else would give up. “The editor of the school paper doesn’t know who the star setter of the men’s volleyball team is?” he says. “That’s just bad journalism.”

“It’s true,” Victor insists.

A chubby boy is on the other side of the court, interviewing Victor’s coach. He’s holding up his phone to record Coach Yakov’s analysis of the unimportant midseason game, his face serious behind cute, square glasses. It’s enough to make Victor’s heart melt into his shoes.

“I have personally seen him interview you three times,” Christophe says.

“Oh, he knows my _name_ ,” Victor allows. “He knows the names, jersey numbers, and stats of every starter in the athletic department. I might as well be a trophy in a case.”

Christophe sighs the sigh that means he thinks Victor is being dramatic.

“I’m serious! Watch, watch.” Victor straightens his back and strides purposefully across the court. Christophe snorts a laugh and follows. Together, they’re quite a pair—tall, not bad to look at, and Coach likes the players to wear dress shirts and slacks before the games and after showering—and Victor is grateful to have a wingman to go into battle with.

Yuuri Katsuki looks up at their approach. A light flashes in his eyes, but Victor’s not fooled. He’s observed Yuuri closely for a while now, ever since he showed up to cover the first game of the season. Victor has had this particular look of interest labeled as Journalist Yuuri for weeks.

“Nikiforov!” Yuuri says excitedly. “Giacometti! Just two questions,” he insists, as though they hadn’t walked over solely to speak with him. “Oh, thank you, Coach Yakov,” when Yakov makes an obvious move to leave. “Now, in the third set, when you were down two points, did you feel...?”

The interview is more than two questions long, mostly because Victor Nikiforov doesn’t back down just because something is obviously going to take work. Eventually, Christophe yawns apologetically (if theatrically, in Victor’s opinion). “I’m sorry, Katsuki, I’d love to hash out every point, but I’ve got to call it a night.”

Victor narrows his eyes at him. “It’s Saturday. And aren’t you partying with the team later?”

Christophe’s fatigue evaporates, and he waggles his eyebrows. “Nope. Got a study date, though.” He doesn’t need to use air quotes because they are beyond obvious.

Apparently only to some. “Wow.” Yuuri’s eyes are wide behind his adorable glasses. “Studying on a Saturday after a game? Your dedication to your college career is commendable.”

“Anything for the grade, man,” Christophe says solemnly. He slaps Victor on the back, adjusts his bag on his shoulder, and slips out the gym doors. Victor glares after him. Some wingman, leaving before the deal is closed.

“Oh my.” Yuuri tuts as he checks his watch. Because of course he wears a wristwatch. It’s so very something an editor would do, and Victor loves it. He himself hasn’t worn a wristwatch since junior high. They tended to end up smashed or stomped on or just plain lost. “I’m sorry for keeping you so late.” Yuuri glances up at Victor regretfully.

“Not at all!” Victor sweeps his hair back from his eyes. “Do you have any more questions? I have all the time in the world, happy to talk until dawn.” That was definitely overdoing it. Christophe frequently says that Victor doesn’t know the meaning of _play it cool_ , and he’s unfortunately very correct.

“No, no!” Yuuri is fumbling in his ever-present messenger bag. There are at least three different Moleskines in it from what Victor can see and god knows what else. “I’m so sorry to have taken so much of your time, you’re probably exhausted.”

“Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Victor counters. He frowns a little. Yuuri only looks directly at him when he’s asking him questions about his games. The interview is clearly over, now that Yuuri is back to looking at the floor and his bag and everything _but_ Victor Nikiforov.

“Aha.” Yuuri angles himself toward the door. It’s odd body language, but Victor has read it before: too polite to end a conversation himself but wanting to let Victor know that he’s free to go. Victor doesn’t _want_ to be free to go. “Of course, you said the team was having a party somewhere?” Yuuri says. “I don’t mean to keep you…”

Inspiration flashes into Victor’s mind. “I suppose I should make an appearance,” he says slowly.

Yuuri mumbles something affirming, his head low as he continues to fidget with his bag. What _is_ he looking for in there? Should Victor volunteer to help him?

“But that’s no reason we can’t keep talking! About the game, of course,” Victor tacks on, because he can have restraint if he tries. “You should come with me.”

Now Yuuri’s head snaps up. Victor is pleasantly surprised. He would have invited him out weeks ago if he’d thought the direct approach would get his attention. “I—” Yuuri’s mouth works charmingly for a moment, no further sound ensuing.

“It’s at my frat,” Victor says blandly, hoping to high heaven this isn’t a setback. His house isn’t exactly known for hosting cozy tea parties. “It could be a new angle for your story?”

Yuuri blinks. “Oh. Oh, you were thinking—yes, I see, that makes sense.” He relaxes his shoulders but he’s shuffled farther toward the gym door. “I do have enough to cover the game adequately. You should go enjoy being with your friends.” Yuuri looks up at Victor briefly, and his smile is genuine, and Victor cannot be blamed for the inanity that spouts from his mouth in the next instant.

“Aren’t we friends?” Pathetic. Almost whiny. Like a toddler asking a puppy why it won’t let him love it. Not the image Victor would like to have of himself and certainly not the image he wants Yuuri to have

Yuuri stares. His disbelief is palpable, and well, now Victor is really at a loss.

“I suppose…” Yuuri agrees slowly. “To the extent that friendship is defined by interviewing you routinely in a professional capacity.”

Victor frowns. “Or, you know, friendship between fellow students.” He knows he’s pouting. He hates it when he pouts.

Something new drifts into Yuuri’s face. Something wary and possibly suspicious. “You consider yourself friends with all your fellow students?”

“Well. _Well_ ,” Victor stammers, “I like to think I’m the friendly sort.”

“And you are.” Yuuri reaches out and _pats Victor’s arm_ (his brain does not short-circuit, but it’s a close-run thing). “I’ve seen you. The picture of friendliness. To absolutely everyone.”

“You’ve seen me?” Victor all but gasps. Under normal circumstances, he thinks he’s hard to miss—nearly six feet tall, silver hair, icy blues, relatively pretty face—but Yuuri has made him question his charisma lately.

Yuuri gives him a smile that can only be described as resigned. “Athletes are notoriously friendly. Look, I…” He inches toward the door, really moving now. “I don’t think I can make the party tonight.”

The spark of hope extinguishes immediately, and hurt swims into Victor’s heart. The first guy he’s had a crush on since high school, and it has to be someone who’s completely not interested. Still, let no one say he is not graceful in defeat. “Not into being friends with athletes, I take it?” He flashes Yuuri his most brilliant smile. “Thanks for the interview, they always turn out great.”

“Look, Victor—”

Hope is a _cruel_ thing. It’s the first time Yuuri’s called him by his first name ever. “Yes?” Victor leans forward, his grip tight on his gym bag.

“You want to be friends?” The suspicious look is still firmly in place, but it’s laced with doubt. “Or do you have a paper you want me to edit?” Yuuri’s voice has dropped, and he looks for all the world like he doesn’t want to be standing on the gym floor with Victor in this moment.

Victor completely didn’t see that one coming. “A…paper?” he repeats.

Yuuri sighs with finality. “Look, I think you do great work on the volleyball team, and you’re quite an addition to the university’s history, but if you have something you need edited or proofread, I have a fee system I can forward you.”

Victor blinks. “Fee system?”

“The rates are quite reasonable.”

“That’s…that’s very enterprising of you.” Victor is horrified to think that Yuuri could possibly believe he wanted to get close to him so Yuuri could do him a huge favor. _Well…_ Victor’s mind skips ahead several steps. Favors would be appreciated but none of them were of an academic persuasion. At least, not until much further down the list. He clears his throat. “I’ll be sure to keep it in mind for my next paper.”

Yuuri nods and looks at the floor.

“But I’m afraid that’s not what I was talking about,” Victor clarifies in a rush. “In all honesty, I really did just want you to come to the party. I think you’d have fun. Possibly,” he adds, because he really has no idea what Yuuri finds fun. He’d certainly like to find out. He hopes it includes men.

Yuuri’s mouth drops open, and if _that_ isn’t a pretty sight. He snaps it closed to choke, “Why?”

“Why?” Victor inwardly panics over the directness of the question. “I mean, we’re in the same class, you come to all the games, you seem interested in volleyball,” he babbles. “We can be friends after all that, can’t we?”

Yuuri holds his gaze for a long moment. His eyes are big and brown. Victor loves brown. “Yes,” Yuuri finally says. Slow and cautious. “Of course. Pardon me for assuming. I’m not…used to athletes being in an enormous hurry for my friendship.” He gestures at his neat V-neck sweater vest over his soft body, and the implication isn’t lost on Victor.

Victor gives a showy laugh and throws an arm over Yuuri’s shoulders. “I like to think I’m not so shallow as to require all my friends to have the same interests. Do you need to pick up anything before we head to my place? Drop anything off? Are you hungry…?”

He chatters on autopilot, pausing only when Yuuri stammers out an answer here and there. He’s warm and cozy, pressed up tight under Victor’s arm. The sweater vest is soft under Victor’s fingers. Green argyle is a great look for Yuuri, and Victor tells him so. The ensuing blush is beyond charming.

Oh, yes. Victor will be friendly and chivalrous and not presume a damn thing, not until he’s convinced Yuuri that athletes don’t require anything more than the purest friendship from journalism students. After that…plans will be up for renegotiation.

* * *

The frat house is…alarming. Music blares from every window, there are red Solo cups in every hand, students spill out onto the porch and sidewalk, and three people in the front yard are trying to decide if they want to fight or make out. Victor can feel Yuuri shrink back.

“Let’s get a drink first, yeah?” Victor suggests quickly. “There’ll be tons of stuff to choose from in the kitchen—I’m sorry, do you drink?”

Yuuri takes a deep breath and stands up a little straighter. “I’m fond of rye, personally.”

“Rye?” Victor repeats, delighted. “Well, we’ll have to see what we can do! This way, up, up, up!” He tugs Yuuri up the porch steps by the hand. The house is obscenely crowded. Wouldn’t do to let his new friend get lost in the mayhem.

There is an enormous bottle of something translucent and brown on the kitchen counter amongst the random assortment of beers and terrible wine. Victor has never heard of the brand. Yuuri’s wrinkled nose suggests he has. “You don’t have to drink anything if you don’t want to, of course,” Victor says after a pause.

“No, no!” Yuuri gamely pours a small splash into a cup. “Just…hand me a can of Coke, will you?”

An ice-cold Coke later and an IPA for Victor, and they are, Victor feels, off to a decent start for what seems to be Yuuri’s first frat party. It actually doesn’t take much for Yuuri to unstick himself from Victor’s side and launch into conversation with a couple basketball starters. Turns out he’s quite the dynamic conversationalist—well, Victor shouldn’t be surprised. He interviews people for a career. It stands to reason he’d be engaging and informed and just generally interesting to chat with.

When Christophe wanders in, Victor has actually lost Yuuri. One trip to the bathroom, and Victor returns to find that his…new friend (not his date, he reminds himself sternly) has been swallowed up by the party.

“No way.” Christophe is far too astonished to be flattering when Victor catches him up to speed. “You got Katsuki to show up?”

“He came with me directly from the gym, as a matter of fact.” Victor sniffs him. The alcohol is potent. “Where have _you_ been?”

Christophe leers. “Around. _Around_. And you, my friend, are far too sober for how long this damn party’s gone on.”

Victor frowns. “I didn’t want to get hammered the first time I hang out with Yuuri. Although I’ve got to say, he’s a lot more comfortable tonight than I’d expected him to be.”

“Yeah?” With a wink, Christophe swipes a beer from a tall, toned brunette who passes by and takes a sip. “When did you see him last?”

“It’s been probably half an hour?” Victor cranes his neck around the living room. Athletes were everywhere, and while Victor isn’t the shortest in the room, he is by far not the tallest. He’ll have to make a concerted effort if he wants to find Yuuri. Still, he doesn’t want to come across as clingy, so possibly—

“Vic-toorrrrr!”

A gentle warmth gloms onto his side, and he lifts his second can of beer to avoid sloshing it on… “Yuuri?” Victor gasps.

Yuuri’s sweater vest is missing, which is concerning, but from the state Yuuri’s in, Victor is just grateful he’s somehow staggered his way back to him. His glasses are askew, his black hair is rumpled in ways Victor would have never thought possible given its silky texture, and his cheeks are red as the Solo cup Yuuri is holding upside down behind Victor’s back.

Thank goodness the floor is tile. Also, he’s not the only one spilling things by this time. Victor holds him tight to keep Yuuri’s feet from slipping. He’s not complaining.

“Victor.” Yuuri looks up at him sternly, and it is the most adorable thing Victor’s seen in…yes, he will say his entire life, because look at this man.

“Yes, Yuuri.” _Yes, you have my rapt attention._

“Victor, I’ve been—with the women’s…volleyloll team.”

“You don’t say?” Victor’s heart is in his throat. He’s friends with most of the women’s team. They’re talented and smart and gorgeous. He imagines he will be finding out shortly whether Yuuri is straight or not.

“One o’ the gurrls was…drunk…an’.”

This isn’t ending well, Victor just knows.

“An’ she tol’ me a shecret. And one o’ th’other girls yelled at her.” Yuuri shakes his head fiercely. “An’ the firsh girl was _reeeeeeeaaaallly_ upset, so you can’t get mad at her. I promised you wouldn’.”

Victor glances at Christophe for help. Christophe, the unhelpful bastard, is leaning over Victor’s shoulder and giving Yuuri all his attention. “And then? What was the secret?” he asks, sotto voce.

“Ish a _big_ secret.” Yuuri looks up at Christophe reprovingly. “An’ it’s about…” His eyes cut slowly to Victor’s, then he leans up to Christophe. He puts his hand over his mouth to whisper into Christophe’s ear. Which is, of course, centimeters from Victor’s ear. “ _Victor_ ,” Yuuri whispers.

Victor blinks.

Yuuri sets his feet flat on the floor again. “An’ I won’t tell,” he finishes firmly.

Christophe stares at Yuuri. Then slowly looks at Victor. A smile creeps over his face. “Ah. Well. I rather imagine I’m already privy to _this_ big secret.”

“It’s not that big a secret,” Victor grumbles. His arms are still tight around Yuuri’s waist, which doesn’t seem to be bothering Yuuri at all.

“But think of the fun you’ll have revealing it?” Christophe grins at him and offers an encouraging pat on the shoulder before he lopes off. After the tall brunette whose beer he stole, Victor notices.

When he looks back down at Yuuri, Christophe flies instantly from his mind. Yuuri looks stricken.

“Oh no,” he whispers. “I…oh god.” Yuuri puts a hand over his mouth, brown eyes wide. “I shouldn’ve said _anything_ and…” He shoves belatedly at Victor’s chest. “I’m so—” He hiccups a little. “—sorry! I should, I should go—”  

“No, wait, Yuuri.” Victor holds him by the shoulders. “Nothing’s wrong, let’s just—”

“I think I… _ooo_.” Yuuri clutches his hair. Squeezes his eyes shut. “Mmm, room’s…spinning. A lil.”

Victor glances around, exasperated. The living room is chaos, all loud music, filthy floor, and every single chair/sofa/horizontal surface has a butt in it. “This way.” He tugs Yuuri toward the stairs. He hadn’t imagined showing off his room quite like this. “It’ll be quieter, I promise.”

His room is quite a ways down the hall—the frat house is old and rambling—and Yuuri holds onto him tightly, stumbling along. The music is still loud up here, but Victor manages to shut most of it out when he closes his bedroom door.

 _Oh god._ He’s closed his door, with him and Yuuri inside together. Victor takes a deep breath, orders himself to stay calm, and he turns around.

Yuuri is sprawled on his twin bed. His face is buried in Victor’s pillow, his round ass is in the air. He’s kicked off his Sperry’s. His socks have argyle patterns just like his (missing) sweater vest. Honestly, if someone wanted to assassinate Victor Nikiforov, they couldn’t have chosen a better method. His heart is going to stop.

Victor drags both hands through his hair. He marches over to his mini fridge next to his desk and pulls out two water bottles. Walks back to the bed, sits on the end of it, far from Yuuri’s feet, and holds out a bottle. “Here,” he says hoarsely. “Might make you feel better.”

Yuuri peers at him over his shoulder. His glasses are pushed up into his hair. This is all kinds of unfair, really—those big brown eyes just visible past that amazing ass. Victor looks up at the ceiling, water bottle still extended. When Yuuri finally shifts enough to take it, Victor drains half his own bottle dry.

“Thanks,” Yuuri says quietly after a bit. “`s good.”

“I have some power bars if you need something on your stomach.”

Yuuri probably isn’t even aware he moaned. “I don’ need to take your food.”

“Did you have dinner before the game? Or did you just saturate an empty stomach with whiskey and Coke?”

Yuuri groans with feeling this time.

“Power bars it is.”

Minutes later, Victor is leaning back against his bedroom wall, knees up to his chest, munching on a peanut-butter-and-chocolate bar. The silence is companionable, and Yuuri is an adorable drunk, but this is _not_ how Victor had anticipated the evening going. He sighs. Well, what should he have expected really? If he’d wanted the opportunity to impress the editor of the university paper with his sophistication and intelligence and grasp of global affairs, he should have sucked it up and point-blank asked him out to dinner weeks ago.

Instead, Yuuri’s first real memory of him will be sitting on three-week-old sheets in a frat, eating a rather boring protein bar.

“I’m sorry.” Yuuri’s voice is quiet.

Victor’s head whips around to stare at him. “Sorry? Good heavens, for what? _I’m_ sorry I dragged you here, and now—”

“No. I shouldn’ve said what the girls said.” Yuuri looks at his protein bar sadly. “An’ after you were so nice and invited me to your, your party.”

Dear god, he looks like he might cry. Victor _really_ doesn’t want that to be part of the memory, too. “Well, you didn’t actually tell me what they said, you know,” he offers quickly.

Yuuri narrows his eyes into the middle distance as if he’s trying to recall.

“Besides,” Victor continues. He could just rip off the bandage. “I can take a guess.” He leans his head back against the wall, still looking at Yuuri. “You know I’m gay, right?”

Yuuri pauses with the last bite of his protein bar halfway to his mouth. His eyes are wide. He clears his throat. “One of `em…said.”

Victor’s not annoyed, per se. He’s been pretty open around the athletic department. The coaches here don’t seem to care as long as your stats are good. Still…he glances over at Yuuri, who’s fidgeting with the bar’s empty wrapper. He would have liked to gauge Yuuri’s interest a little more discreetly.

“Don’t get mad at her?” Yuuri peeks at him. His glasses have pushed his hair out of his eyes, and he is stunning like this. His collared shirt has the top two buttons undone. Victor can see a white undershirt.

He closes his eyes. “I’m not mad at anyone.” Except himself. For not making a move in a situation where he held a few more flattering cards. “I was going to tell you anyway.”

The silence stretches for too long. It’s Victor’s turn to peek.

Yuuri is watching him. Turned fully toward him, in fact, one foot on the floor, the other knee bent on the bed. “You were?” he asks softly.

Victor wonders if Yuuri can hear his heart hammering. “I wanted to let you know.” He tries to sound light. Casual.

Yuuri leans forward on his hands. “Why?” His eyes are enormous.

 _Because I have to know if there’s any way at all I could get you interested in me._ That is way too much. There are moves and then there are moves, and a statement like that is neither. “Because you’re cute,” Victor says instead, flashing him a wink and a smile.

Yuuri’s eyebrows rise so quickly that the movement makes his glasses fall down to his nose. The frames highlight how Yuuri scans him from head to toe. Victor lets him look his fill. He hopes he looks more confident than he feels. That comment about the fee schedule at the gym really threw him. There’s still the possibility that Yuuri could a) laugh, b) be straight, or c) reject him politely and sweetly for any number of reasons Victor’s imagination has thought of in detail.

“ _I’m_ cute?” Yuuri says slowly. He’s leaning into Victor’s space, practically on his hands and knees now. His eyes rove over Victor’s body.

This has all the hallmarks of being something very good. Victor stretches out one leg, lowering his defenses in case Yuuri turns out to be the type to launch himself into someone’s arms. “You’re _very_ cute, Yuuri,” he says, pitching his voice low. Letting his silver hair fall over his eyes. It’s a combination that has yielded satisfactory results in the past…

A shadow crosses Yuuri’s face. He glances around the room, that suspicious look from the gym back in place. “Is this a joke?” He’s still slurring a little. “Somebody, someone thought it’d be funny. Get th’ school’s editor to…fuckin’ throw himself at the…star setter.”

“Yuuri.” Victor is aghast. What’s got him seeing ulterior motives around every corner? He gets flirted with all the time, surely.

“Thass right!” Yuuri crawls closer. He giggles, but he doesn’t sound like anything’s funny. “Someone tell Katsuki that Nikiforov’s _gay_ ,” he says in a stage-whisper. His face is inches from Victor’s. “Lessee how long it takes before Yuuri’s asking if he can suck his cock.”

Heat explodes in Victor’s chest. Yuuri’s voice went low and dark there at the end, and the cock in question has decided it’s going to ignore all of Victor’s demands that it chill.

“Mmm?” Yuuri tilts his head to one side. The gesture is devilish and knowing. “Did I guess right? Nikiforov? You tryna win a bet? Or somethin’?”

“No,” Victor chokes at last. He feels plastered to the wall, his hands clutching the sheets beneath him. Yuuri hasn’t even touched him, and he’s already a mess, which was _not_ how this was supposed to go. “No, there’s no bet.”

Yuuri goes still. Like that answer hadn’t been anticipated.

“There’s nothing like that,” Victor reiterates a bit more firmly this time, and he sits up and away from the wall. He moves his hand forward with courage he doesn’t really have. Lets his little finger just rest next to Yuuri’s. “I wouldn’t ask you to…do that. Tonight,” he amends, because he likes to think he’s a truthful person. And his fantasies are specific.

Yuuri stares at him. “Oh.” Then, blinking rapidly, he looks down at the sheets underneath them. “Oh, right. Of-of course…”

Victor pushes himself off a cliff. He leans into Yuuri’s space without touching him. Whispers, “I’d love to suck yours though.”

Yuuri gasps hard. Victor can swear he sees a tremor snaking down his back under his crisp button-down. Every hair on Victor’s neck is standing at attention— _that_ had got a reaction, and he’s pretty sure it wasn’t a bad one? He tilts his head to one side just as Yuuri looks up at him. Brown eyes go wide, then flutter shut right before Victor settles his mouth over Yuuri’s.

Soft lips. Smooth skin. A warm sigh fanning over Victor’s face. It’s a sound of abject longing, and it pierces Victor right through the heart. He’s trying to keep his hands off Yuuri as long as he can, but noises like that make things difficult.

Yuuri solves the problem for him. With a loud moan that has Victor’s eyes going wide, Yuuri grabs his face with both hands and turns up the heat of the kiss. Mouth open, Yuuri is doing a perfect job of making his tongue available without sloppily shoving it down Victor’s throat. Victor shivers at the thought that Yuuri might be more experienced than he’d given him credit for.

When Yuuri starts to lie back on the bed, Victor follows eagerly. Perhaps with less sophistication than he’d like, but Yuuri Katsuki is on his bed and apparently wants to be there. Sophistication can happen later. Right now, Yuuri is underneath him and making all kinds of delightful little noises. His hair is every bit as silky as Victor imagined, and the scent of whiskey and Coke is just a complementary note to the subtle cologne Yuuri wears every day. Or every time Victor’s been close enough to smell him, that is.

Yuuri’s hands are confident and sensual, sifting through Victor’s hair, trailing down the back of his dress shirt. Victor tries to let him know he likes all of it, whispering encouragement here and there between kisses. When he drops his head to sniff the cologne at Yuuri’s neck, Yuuri gasps and clutches Victor’s hair. The sharp tug brings out a moan Victor hadn’t quite been expecting from himself.

Yuuri giggles underneath him. “Like that?” he whispers. He tugs gently at Victor’s hair again.

“Shut up,” Victor groans into his neck. He’s almost painfully hard, and it’s without a whole lot of thought that he ruts his hips against Yuuri’s. Yuuri’s nails sink into the back of Victor’s neck, and he makes a completely wanton sound.

“Fuck, _Yuuri_ ,” Victor whimpers. He mouths at Yuuri’s neck, fumbles with the buttons so he can taste more skin. “Yuuri, please say I can touch you, please…” Victor Nikiforov would prefer not to admit it outside of this bedroom, but he is not above begging, not when he’s this hard.

“Y-yes.” Yuuri’s voice is barely audible. He arches his back, rubbing himself against Victor in a way that has stars shooting behind Victor’s eyelids. “Yes, please, I want…you to, yes.”

Victor kisses him softly, favoring his bottom lip, and slides a hand between them. When he palms Yuuri through his trousers, Yuuri breaks off the kiss and presses his head hard into the mattress, his back coming off the bed. “ _Yesss_ ,” he hisses. “Oh god, _Victor_.”

Victor’s eyes are enormous. It’s like Christmas morning. Who knew Yuuri would be so…beautifully responsive? Holy heaven, what is he going to sound like when—

But it’s too soon for that. Not yet, Victor wants him in his mouth, but not yet. He wants to keep Yuuri lost like this for as long as he possibly can. Victor rocks the heel of his palm hard at the base of Yuuri’s cock, and Yuuri nearly sobs. Victor hopes the music is still loud downstairs because Yuuri’s making it hard to keep their little rendezvous a secret.

“Tell me what you like,” Victor asks, panting. He can feel sweat on his forehead. “You want me to do anything? Tell me.” He wants to please him, wants to do whatever he can to make sure Yuuri’s coming back to him sometime soon like this.

Yuuri’s hips move in time with Victor’s hands, his face flushed beet red, glasses abandoned to somewhere on the floor (Victor tries hard to imprint on his memory that he needs to not step on them). His eyes are shut, neck arched, pretty pink mouth open and breathing hard.

Victor’s not going to let him come like this. Not in his pants, and not without telling him at least one thing that he really likes. Other than clothed hand jobs, because it’s pretty apparent Yuuri likes those. “Yuuri,” he insists, leaning down for a chaste kiss. He presses his hand against the head of Yuuri’s cock, straining against the fly. He can feel it throbbing, and _oh god_ this is difficult. He wants so badly to taste him.

“U-um.” Yuuri tries to roll his hips against Victor’s hand, but Victor is uncontestedly stronger and pins him to the mattress with both hands on his hips. Yuuri groans in frustration. He’s got to be so hard it hurts. He opens his eyes just enough for Victor to see his beautiful brown irises through long, dark lashes. “Take your shirt off,” he says. It’s low and breathy, and Victor wishes he had it recorded. He’d play it every night as he undressed. Right before he jerked himself off, because that would be the only way of it.

Victor sits up on his knees hastily. It’s another benefit to being stone sober—the buttons fly apart and he’s back in Yuuri’s hungry embrace in seconds. His eyes roll back in his head to feel those soft hands scoping out every bare muscle. They slip from his back, over his shoulders, to his chest, and Yuuri thumbs a nipple. Victor jerks against him, barely stifling a shout. Every inch of him feels ten thousand times more sensitive than usual.

“Don’t be mean, Yuuri,” Victor pants into his ear. He’s got Yuuri’s hips held down tight again and makes no move to defend himself from Yuuri’s talented fingers.

Yuuri laughs softly. “Mean? You’re the one who said…” A loud sigh as Victor licks at his collarbone. “…said he’d suck my cock.”

Victor’s head snaps up.

“And now you’re not even touching me anymore.” Yuuri pouts up at him.

 _Oh_. “Well, if you’re impatient,” Victor teases. He slides his hands off Yuuri’s hips, rolls them underneath that beautifully curved ass, and then back up to unbutton his trousers.

“So impatient.” Yuuri sighs and lets his arms fall above his head. Victor’s cock jumps at being given such carte blanche. “Pleaaassssseee, yes, Victor Nikiforov, please suck me off.” He moans when Victor tugs his pants down his legs. “Yes, _please_.”

Good god. Victor swallows. Yuuri is tenting his orange boxer briefs rather spectacularly. There’s a dark spot where the tip of his cock presses against the cotton. Victor scrambles off the bed.

Yuuri raises himself to his elbows, a mildly upset look on his flushed face. “Victor?”

“It’ll feel better this way,” Victor promises in a rush. He stands on the floor, grasps Yuuri’s hips once more, and pulls him to the edge of the bed. He grabs a couple T-shirts for something to kneel on—he’s young, but the floor is tiled. Yuuri’s stocking feet dangle nearly to the floor, and Victor satisfies an impulse to pull his socks off. Yuuri falls back onto the bed again with a sigh that sounds relaxed and… _happy_. Victor’s cock throbs again, and he knows he’s probably not going to last himself.

 _Just a bit longer, come on, you got this._ He leans over Yuuri, presses a kiss to his soft stomach just above the band of his briefs, and pulls them gently off. He takes care to not catch the elastic on Yuuri’s hard-on. Victor stares hungrily. He’s only fantasized about this moment since the start of the semester.

Yuuri’s cock is short and thick and flushed nearly purple, it’s so hard against his stomach. Yuuri’s started unbuttoning his own shirt, but he pauses to blush even brighter at Victor’s unabashed ogling. “I want to see yours,” he says petulantly.

Victor bites his lip at how cute he is. Adorable and goddamn _hot_ , and he’s going to let Victor— _good god, man, take your pants off before you explode in them._

Victor’s long and slender and not nearly as dark, compared to Yuuri. Yuuri’s eyes glisten with ill-disguised want, and Victor allows himself to feel a little proud. Yuuri pushes himself up on his elbows and makes a come-hither motion.

Victor frowns. “Oh, no, I get to blow you. That’s what you said you wanted.” He’s afraid if Yuuri touches him, he’s going to come right then and there.

Yuuri’s smile is sinful. “An’ I still want you to. But first, I wanna touch you.” His eyes fall to Victor’s cock. “An’ I think you want me to.”

Teeth gritted—he will manage to take a few strokes without losing it—Victor steps close. Yuuri sits up happily and reaches for him. The first gentle rub has Victor grabbing Yuuri’s shoulders for balance. “Fuck, _Yuuri_ ,” he protests. Yuuri hums encouragement and pats his ass.

Two strokes like velvet, and then a hard, tight one with Yuuri’s thumb trailing over his head, and Victor has to pull back. “Okay, okay,” he gasps. “My turn.”

“Your turn?” Yuuri asks, confused. “I _was_ —”

“Or your turn! Whichever!” Victor drops to his knees to end the debate. He’s going to prove to Yuuri that Victor’s mouth is the best thing he’s ever had. He’s going to have Yuuri coming back to him like this for…well, for a _very long time_. He’s given a few blowjobs and taken a few, and he’s pretty confident with a hard-on like that—he eyes Yuuri’s stunning erection—he’ll be able to see his goal through.

He kisses the shaft first, carefully attuned to Yuuri’s every sound. When Yuuri grips the sheets, Victor licks the head. Yuuri gasps, and Victor runs his tongue underneath his length.

“Oh _god_ , Victor, _please_ …”

Victor’s cock aches at the sound of Yuuri frustrated and wrecked on the bed above him. He takes himself in hand and pulls Yuuri softly into his mouth. He moans at the heavy heat on his tongue, and Yuuri shouts into his own hands, clamped over his face.

It won’t take either of them long, Victor knows he can’t kid himself otherwise. Yuuri’s clearly trying not to fuck his mouth, but his little aborted thrusts indicate he’s desperate for release.

Victor sets his tongue hard underneath Yuuri’s head and pumps him with firm, tight strokes. He spreads his knees, mimicking the touch on himself. He sighs at how good it all feels, the heat of Yuuri inside him, around his hand… Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Yuuri pull one knee up onto the bed, spreading his thighs wide. His toes curl into the sheets.

Victor looks up through his lashes. Yuuri’s soft stomach is quivering with every breath, and he’s flushed from his chest to his navel. Good lord, he’s touching his own nipples, rolling and tugging and pinching. It’s a completely debauched sight that Victor wants to frame and hang in a very private room just for himself. And maybe Yuuri.

“Victor… _Victor,_ I—” A warning cracks Yuuri’s voice, and Victor pulls off just in time. He strokes firmly twice, three times, and Yuuri’s coming across his own stomach. He screams, short and high, and paints himself up to his chest. Victor watches, mouth open, as Yuuri comes down from his high, shuddering. When Yuuri finally opens his eyes, just barely, it’s with a beautiful, breathy sigh that he says, “Ahhh, _Victor._ ” His smile is angelic.

Which is enough to pitch Victor over the edge himself, tight as his fist may have been around his own cock. His orgasm suprises him, and he grips the edge of his bed as he falls forward with a rough shout, come shooting onto the tiled floor.

He rests his forehead on Yuuri’s soft thigh, panting until the spots fade from his vision.

“Mmm.” Yuuri pushes himself back on Victor’s bed. “C’mere…” He pulls his knees up to his chest, enough so he can lift the covers. It’s a move that affords Victor a first-class view of his curved ass, and a set of balls that’s still twitching.

Victor scrambles up the bed and folds Yuuri reverently in his arms. He lavishes his neck and shoulders with kisses, inhaling his satiated scent, and Yuuri lets him for a long while, his arms raised behind his head to caress Victor’s hair and face.

Eventually, the kisses slow and give way to coos of _that was nice_ and _I liked that_ and _you’re so pretty_ and Victor loses count of who says what and how often. Yuuri falls asleep first, his back warm against Victor’s chest. When Victor falls asleep, it’s with a very goofy smile splashed across his face.

* * *

Sunday dawns, and Victor sleeps right through it. Sunday noon hits, and Victor’s bladder finally decides it’s time to wake up. He feels boneless, as if he’d had the world’s best full-body massage, and he smiles into his pillow knowing why. He opens his eyes slowly, ready to savor the sight of Yuuri Katsuki sleepy in the morning.

The bed is empty. Save for Victor, of course. He sits up immediately and scans the room. Victor’s clothes are strewn haphazardly on the floor, but Yuuri’s things are nowhere to be seen.

He glances at his phone. No messages. Victor fights down a small twinge of hurt. It’s also past noon. Yuuri’s probably an early riser, he definitely seems the type. Victor normally is, too, but he doesn’t have earth-shattering orgasms every night either.

He throws off the covers and sorts through the mess on the floor for something clean and decent-looking. Last night was…a place to start. He might’ve put the cart before the horse a little bit, but at least he’s established that Yuuri is a) into men and b) into _him_. Definitely more information than he had before.

Victor’s out the door in less than a minute. With any luck, perhaps Yuuri hasn’t had lunch yet.

Fifteen minutes later, Victor is wandering aimlessly on campus, kicking himself for having literally no idea where to find Yuuri. He doesn’t know where he lives, doesn’t know his habits, and doesn’t even have his phone number for crying out loud. What a rookie move! Any amateur can manage to get a hookup’s number, and Victor had his _serious crush_ in his _bed_ just last _night_ after pining over him for _months_.

He flops onto a nearby bench to pout.

There he remains until, a good five or so minutes later, it dawns on him that he might try the student newspaper office. Surely, he can find that. And then if Yuuri’s not there, he’ll try the library. Victor sits up, fresh with determination. And if not the library, than he’ll go to the athletic department, where surely somebody knows how to find the editor of the school paper.

At the top of the stairs of the communications department, Victor is ecstatic to learn that steps two and three of his plan will be unnecessary. Yuuri Katsuki is blearily attempting to unlock a door marked The Newsroom while juggling a hot coffee and his ubiquitous messenger bag.

“Yuuri!” Victor bounds down the hall.

Yuuri very nearly drops his coffee, stares at him aghast, and somehow manages to unlock the door and shoot inside before Victor is within five feet. Victor skids to a halt outside the firmly closed door, jaw unhinged.

The lettering of The Newsroom is cold and unsympathetic.

Confusion swims at the top of the emotional flood Victor is working through. He steps up to the door and knocks softly. “Yuuri?” he asks quietly.

No response. The silence is so thick that it suggests someone is trying very hard to make it happen.

“Yuuri, I—” Victor decides against pointing out that he saw him run inside. “Yuuri, is something wrong?”

Silence.

Victor closes his eyes. He should just walk away, really. He isn’t the type to push himself where he isn’t wanted. Except now he has to wonder if that’s really true, because _oh god_ what if he pushed Yuuri all the way to where they are now? Victor had certainly been the instigator for, oh, everything that happened last night. He grips his hair in both hands. And Yuuri had been drunk. Victor hadn’t thought he was _that_ drunk, and he had asked for and received a yes that he’d _thought_ was pretty enthusiastic, but maybe—?

He takes a deep breath. He can fix this. If Yuuri is upset…and clearly, something is off…then Victor will be an adult and do the adult thing of apologizing. If he can get Yuuri to ever look at him again.

He clears his throat softly. “Have you had lunch yet?” He hopes he sounds casual. “I thought we could maybe get something off campus. Maybe the Thai place? And maybe talk. Do you like Thai? It’s my favorite, but if there’s something you’d rather—”

The door flies open. Yuuri’s eyes are red, and he has deep pink tracks down his cheeks indicative of a really, _really_ rough cry. Victor’s heart feels like it has five hundred rubber bands wrapped around it.

“Yuuri,” he breathes. He lifts one hand to Yuuri’s face, but Yuuri backs away. Which adds another hundred rubber bands. “What happened?” he asks, desperate. “What’s different?”

Yuuri gives one of those laughs that says worlds. “Nothing,” he says, and it’s too light, too high. “Nothing’s different.” He takes a deep breath. “We don’t have to do lunch, we can…skip that part.”

What does that mean? Victor stares at him. “Yuuri. Aren’t we friends?” He’d certainly hoped they were more than that now, but frankly he isn’t certain if he needs to start from square one or ground zero.

Yuuri pauses, then gives him a sad smile. “Sure. Yeah, we’re friends.”

“Look, Yuuri—”

“Victor, I like you, I do.” Yuuri stands up straight. His blotchy face doesn’t really sell his firm posture. “And I’m sure you’re a nice guy who’d never mean to hurt anybody—”

Victor is horrified. “Did I—?”

“But I was an idiot last night.” Yuuri chokes a little. “I don’t…I don’t do that anymore. I don’t h-hook up with pretty jocks who put me in their phone to call when they want dick.” He smiles, and it’s heartbreaking. “So we can still be friends if you want, but you need to know upfront that last night was it. Won’t be happening again.”

Victor feels thunderclouds in his veins. Who…who _would do that_? He knows who. He’s played volleyball with and against them nearly his whole life. You praise some people enough about their talent and their skill and their bodies, and they grow up thinking they can swan around treating people like things.

He folds his arms across his chest. Lifts his chin. Nods at the office door. “Do you mind if I come inside? We can talk here. No lunch required.”

Yuuri blinks. “Um?” He backs into the room. “I’m leaving the door open.”

“Thank you.” Victor bows a little before he walks inside.

Yuuri stays right by the door. He looks ready to bolt at a moment’s notice.

Victor inhales through his nose and puts all his cards on the table. “I like you. A lot, and I don’t mean, oh, yeah, sure, the editor seems like a cool guy, I mean that you have captured my attention fully from the first time you spoke to me after a game.”

Yuuri’s mouth drops open.

“I like you, and by that I mean that I have been trying to figure out how to ask you out since the season started.” He walks closer because it doesn’t look like Yuuri’s coming farther into the room. In fact, he kind of looks frozen to the floor. “I like you so much that Christophe has stopped rolling his eyes at me when I say your name and now just looks sorry for me.”

The corner of Yuuri’s mouth twitches, but he still looks skittish.

“I like you so much,” Victor says softly, coming to stand right up close to him, “that I was a complete idiot last night and let myself get carried away with how much I wanted you…instead of taking it slow and seeing how you felt and if you even wanted me at all.”

Yuuri barks a laugh. “If I even wanted you? Were you there last night? Did you forget how I climbed you like a stripper pole?”

Images of last night flash into Victor’s memory. It’s with considerable effort that he forces them aside. “I was absolutely there.” He looks down into Yuuri’s brown eyes, so large behind his glasses. “But I didn’t ask what _you_ wanted.”

“You definitely did.” Yuuri’s eyes have some heat in them, which makes it difficult to keep things on track. “And I remember saying yes a lot.”

“Dammit, Yuuri.” Victor wipes a hand over his face. “I am trying to do this right this time, could you stop—?”

“Stop what?” Yuuri’s glance flicks over Victor’s team jacket, so obviously taking in the scope of his chest and shoulders.

“Stop being hot,” Victor says hoarsely.

Yuuri’s eyes snap up to his. His tongue darts over his pretty pink lips. “What…what do you want then?” he asks.

Right. Goals. He can do this. Victor stands up straight. Yuuri’s gaze follows him, and it’s a heady thing. “Yuuri Katsuki, I am asking you out. I would like you to go out with me, on several dates please.”

Yuuri seems to be getting ready to say something, but Victor rushes on.

“I would also like to meet you at the library to study. And meet you after your classes and talk about them. And I’d like you to cheer me on at my games, just me, not the whole team. And I’d like—”

Yuuri’s fingers are soft against his lips. “Do I get to say what I want?”

“Oh. Um.” Victor is a little distracted. “Yes.” He wraps his hand around Yuuri’s wrist and holds his fingers against his mouth.

“I think Thai sounds wonderful. We should go have lunch.”

Victor’s heart plummets to his shoes. Nothing about anything he’d just said? Lunch was good, it was what he’d come here for after all, but—

“And then.” Yuuri crowds in close. Sweeps a thumb over Victor’s bottom lip. “I want to take you to my dorm, tell my roommate it’s time to go to the library, and then give my boyfriend lessons in blowjobs.”

Victor’s face is so hot he wouldn’t be surprised if his hair turned pink.

“Does that sound good?” Yuuri whispers.

Victor isn’t certain what he says in response, only that he wants it to convey all the yes. Yuuri makes it plain, in the newsroom and later in his dorm, that whatever it was, it had been the right thing to say.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm [@codango](http://codango.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr, but while it reinvents itself, you can find me on my website: [marcellachristie.com](http://marcellachristie.com/). It'll lead you to my Twitter, etc.


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